


Youth

by Pyramyriad



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age - Various Authors, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anvil of the Void, Archery, Big Brothers, Bird Crap, Bird Poop, Birds, Bows & Arrows, Brothers, Cadash-Centric (Dragon Age), Character of Faith, Childhood, Chores, Cleaning, Creepy, Darkspawn, Divine Age, Drabble Collection, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age II - Exiled Prince DLC, Dragon Age II Spoilers, Dragon Age: Origins - The Stone Prisoner DLC, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Women, Dwarves, Family Fluff, Fatherhood, Fear, First Blight, Gen, Gift Giving, Golems, Having Faith, Honnleath, House Cadash - Freeform, Humans, Humor, Library, Mentions of Blights, Named Cadash (Dragon Age), POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Pre-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins, Punishment, Sacrifice, Scary, Self-Sacrifice, Siblings, Starkhaven (Dragon Age), Starkhaven Longbow, Swordplay, Swords, Templars, Templars (Dragon Age), Thaigs, The Exiled Prince, Ultimate Sacrifice, War, Weapons, Young, Young Cullen, Youth, multi-chapter, poop jokes, scared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20285284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyramyriad/pseuds/Pyramyriad
Summary: Stories of companions in their younger days.





	1. Volunteer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little bit confused about the years when Caridin and Shayle became golems, so this might fall under AU.
> 
> I would love a game, book or comic about the First Blight, by the way. Please, BioWare!

I write this in the hope that the Shaperate might keep this for future generations to learn something and discover a way to stop it.

The Blight has come upon the dwarves…and we are losing the fight. It struck us first and hard; an army of darkness the likes of which we’ve never seen. Twisted reflections of man, bringing with them both a fatal taint and monstrous habits. They kill most, feed on corpses and each other. Some unlucky survivors are dragged away to who knows where.

The creatures came too quickly for us to react. We might be one race, but we’re spread across Thedas in separate thaigs. To my horror, I learned that each shut its doors to those outside, unwilling to help. The Houses began squabbling, instead of protecting their people. _Squabbling_! When we need to band together the most. It’s only thanks to Aeducan that things have calmed down. Now we are loosely united.

But it’s too late.

Most thaigs are in ruins, the bodies of fellow dwarves surrounded and devoured by all manner of creatures – spiders and deepstalkers, to name a few – leaving us unable to bury our loved ones. Many of our famed steeds, the brontos, have been lost and become wild again.

And I…I’m only one blade. I cannot stand against an entire army.

Huddled in a thaig with the rest of my family, we are alert and waiting for the end to come. Some of the children are sick and dying from the taint. It breaks my heart to watch. Most men are dead, sent into the heart of the battle and killed – valiantly. I see none of that in this war. What remains are the swordswomen, but we are few and far between now. I think of my aunt and shudder. They dragged her away…alive.

I’ve endlessly begged the ancestors that we may pull through with at least some people and heritage intact. Yet the halls remain eerily silent. My hopes are dashed time and again.

“HOUSE CADASH!” The booming voice fills the cold and emptiness. It belongs to an approaching man with a full, black beard. His armour is shinier than most I have seen and clothing underneath suggests he’s of high rank, although even he is caked in dirt. It appears he is acting messenger at the moment, but carrying what news? I fear the worst and have no desire to learn more. “I have come on behalf of the Paragon Caridin!”

Caridin? The genius smith? Against my better judgement, I step forward. Now I _must_ hear what this man has to say.

“He asks for volunteers!”

Volunteers…for what? I decide it doesn’t matter anymore and march to stand directly before him. If there’s a way to help, I will do it. At this point, I would do almost anything. But I choose to not announce any of that, worried about “inspiring” others into potentially sacrificing their lives. The bearded male looks me up and down, then nods silently. With that, we leave.

I don’t dare look back.

* * *

“Atrast vala.” The dwarf greets me with a slight bow of the head, almost shy and polite, as if _I_ am the one in charge. _This_ is the great Caridin? He’s nothing how I imagined, with fiery red hair, a youthful, clean-shaven face and piercing green eyes that seem to gaze into my very soul. His clothing is also practical, rather than extravagant.

“Atrast vala.” I cannot resist responding in turn and he looks pleased by my manners. Yet I’m growing impatient. What does he want of me? Of anybody? What use could he find in a swordswoman? I don’t know the first thing about smiting, engineering or lyrium.

“I see you are confused.” The Paragon gives a tilt of the head, before continuing. “Allow me to explain.”

“Please do.”

“I have found a way to push back the darkspawn – at least, temporarily. But the cost is great and I could never force it upon my fellow dwarves. So, I ask for your help voluntarily. And you are not the first to accept.”

My eyes widen. There I am…daring to hope once more. It’s too much and I feel the sudden urge to flee back to my family. Something in Caridin’s eyes holds me in place and I make myself listen to the rest.

“Golems,” he announces, then fights back a smile. “You look confused again.”

“Can you blame me?” My voice is barely a murmur, terrified. “And you mentioned the cost? What is it that makes you hesitant?”

“I will tell you how golems are made. I have in my possession an invention called the Anvil of the Void. That is what allows me such power. It fills the empty shell with a soul.” As I simply stare, he clarifies, “Each golem requires the life of a dwarf.”

The words take time to sink in. Regardless, I’m enraptured by that desperate desire to save innocent lives. “I don’t care. My own life is expendable if used to protect the lives of others. I want to see future generations devoid of that sickness. I don’t wish for something like that to spread, even to the surface.”

“Such willingness to sacrifice yourself. And caring, even for surfacers,” Caridin responds; it sounds approving. “You will become a golem, then?”

“For the cause, yes.”

“Then please…tell me your name.”

“Shayle.”


	2. The Wise Man's Weapon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sebastian's turn!

Playing Knights wasn’t enjoyable anymore. Four times Sebastian had been knocked onto the wet and muddy ground, moisture seeping into his clothing. Lips forming a pout and the wooden practice sword clutched tighter in hand, he could no longer find the willpower to continue. A free hand tugged several blades of grass and flicked them into the breeze, blue eyes watching the movement. He envied such freedom, wondering one day if it could be _his_ destiny.

The elder Vael brothers said many times that swordplay wasn’t Sebastian’s forte. As much as he detested their cruel words, it couldn’t be denied that they were right. _Too much getting hit._ Rising and returning to the palace, he thought perhaps the time was right to ask Grandfather about practicing with a more suitable weapon.

Every time the boy travelled through the ornate and luxurious building, with its marbled flooring, rich tapestries bearing the distinct heraldry of Starkhaven and Vael family, he felt overcome with longing and envy of all that ruled above. One day, it might have belonged to him, although unlikely. The heir, the spare…and Sebastian, who might one day become a Priest or part of the royal army. Never a true leader, somebody to make their mark on Thedas.

_Perhaps I could rebel,_ he considered. Either thought was depressing.

Arriving in the library at last, Sebastian tiptoed through – for the sole reason of being afraid of incurring the wrath of his grandfather. The elderly male enjoyed such solace and quiet, whilst the rest of the palace continued in its frenzy and over-the-top shows of wealth. Eventually, the latter was located in a distant corner, long nose in a heavy tome consisting of yellowed, slightly dog-eared pages, its outer jacket a faded shade of red with gold stitching.

Grandfather Vael’s head rose and piercing blue eyes captured the child’s. Although decades apart in age, they appeared almost as twins…although sadly lacked the same temperament and experience. The old man saw the landscape before the Dragon Age began, already an adult by the time of Ferelden’s rebellion at the hands of Maric.

“What is it, my boy?” he enquired, in a soft accent that was deliberate and unmistakably powerful. The book lowered further, before being closed and set aside on a nearby table. “And why do you tread mud in here? Your father will throw one of his classic fits.”

“I know.” Sebastian swallowed and lowered his head, embarrassed. When his head once again rose, he felt a large hand patting him on the shoulder. _How does he move so fast?_

“Tell me what troubles you.”

“I…well…I’m no good with swords. So…I was wondering…” Why was it this difficult to speak about? With a deep breath, the young Prince decided to air his thoughts. “I want to learn another kind of fighting. Maybe a different kind of weapon.”

The grandfather admired such honesty and contemplatively scratched his grey beard. “There is something you might be good with. Whatever your brothers and father might say, slashing and fencing aren’t the ways to dispatch your foes. And you will have plenty of those as you grow older, I can tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, archery, of course. It might be considered dishonourable to not duel with blades, to strike from a distance, quickly and quietly. But it could suit you. Likely mean you’ll sport far less scrapes and bruises.”

Sebastian’s expression brightened, intrigued and hopeful. It was incredibly endearing to witness and the elder decided in that moment to further inspire; he wandered towards the weapons collection of the library and the boy followed with eager footsteps. Most of the glass display cases were filled with ancient armour, shields and longswords, prizes from duels and wars, some dating from the Divine Age and even First Blight.

The pair paused at a marbled plinth on the far right, on which sat an intricate wooden case made of red cedar, aromatic to prevent various insects and arachnids from going anywhere near it. Carved into the lid were intricate stags frolicking around the edges and in the centre the Starkhaven crest – a goblet surrounded by mysterious snake or fish-like creatures and simple knots.

Grandfather Vael unlocked the clasps and lifted the lid to reveals its contents. Within was inlaid with crimson crush velvet and upon it rested the most beautiful longbow Sebastian had ever seen, made of yew and curved either side of the white and gold handle into what appeared to be dragon wings with multiple prongs along its length. However, to truly demonstrate the weapon, the old man lifted and held it by the grip, revealing an impressive size that dwarfed the rapidly-growing boy.

“This will be yours one day,” the elder insisted. “But _only_ if you show promise with an ordinary bow, train hard and show true dedication, true _faith_. This will be my gift to you. I promise you that much.” He knelt to his grandson’s level and wore a stern expression. “Now it is your turn. Do you promise that you will become worthy of it?”

Sebastian almost exploded with delight, a broad grin forming. “I do! I promise!”

Grandfather Vael ruffled the young one’s hair, causing it to stick up every which way, then straightened up. Time would tell, but the elder was nothing if not a believer – in the Maker and his own flesh and blood.


	3. Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble featuring Cullen and Shale.

The golden-haired boy had absolutely no desire to clean the thing. It was covered in bird faeces and merely stood, utterly motionless. However, the task was punishment for him picking up his father’s sword and pretending to be a templar. Such exuberance resulted in the smashing of crockery. Why he thought swinging a heavy blade in the kitchen was a good idea remained beyond even the Maker’s infinite knowledge.

After receiving complaints from both parents _and_ elder sister (mostly the latter), the child had been handed a sponge and bucket of soapy water, then sent off to see to the golem in the village square. It sounded unappealing in the first place, but actually being before said stone artefact brought mild horror to his countenance.

Mustering some much-needed courage, he cautiously approached, setting the bucket down onto the grass, then bent over and dipped the sponge into the water. He prepared to begin his chore…when something shifted in the corner of his vision. Body frozen to the spot, brown eyes widened at the inert automaton.

The boy _swore_ he witnessed its arm twitch. Ever. So. Slightly. His gaze refused to tear from it for a good five minutes, optics watering from a lack of blinking. Yet the golem did not budge in the slightest.

_Did I…imagine that?_ he wondered.

Shaking his head to return some semblance of logical thinking and reassure himself there was nothing to be afraid of, the blonde squeezed surplus water from the sponge and wandered up to the statue.

After that day, Cullen never again picked up his father’s sword.


End file.
